


Lean On Me

by mrs_d



Category: due South
Genre: "Good For The Soul", Episode Related, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-03 17:04:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4108420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_d/pseuds/mrs_d
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're hurting, let me take you home."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lean On Me

“Need a ride home?”

Startled, I glance up from examining the framed photograph again. Ray is still wearing my hat and a lopsided grin. I try to smile back, but it reopens my lip. My tongue touches the warm sore spot, and I taste my blood. His face droops just a little.

“Hurting?” he asks. Then his eyebrows twitch. He’s berating himself. A split-second later he adds, “Stupid question,” under his breath. He jerks his head toward the door. “Come on, I’ll give you a lift.”

“I can walk if you’d like to stay longer.”

“No, you’re hurting, let me take you home.” In one of his characteristically fluid movements, my hat is in my hand, and he’s swinging his leather jacket over his narrow frame while adjusting the holster, so his gun sits right where it should. “Where’s your coat?”

I cast my eyes around the crowded squad room before finding Diefenbaker’s guilty face resting on what looks like a very furry version of my navy jacket. Ray’s eyes had followed mine.

“Dief, come on, get off that, who said you could sleep there?”

The half-wolf stands and stretches, beginning his protestations. _You did_. I cast him a skeptical look.

“Never mind,” I say. I try to bend, but Ray beats me to it.

“Don’t do that, Fraser,” he chastises me, as if I’d tasted something off the concrete again. “You’re hurting, you got to let me, you know—”

He pushes my coat into my hands and takes the lead down the hall. I touch my hat in farewell to the group. Huey and Dewey wave, Welsh salutes, some of the others raise glasses. Francesca’s back is turned. _Small miracles_ , I think, as I chase after Ray, striving to catch up while avoiding more back pain. I round the bend toward the exit to find him holding the door for me.

“—take care of you,” he mutters.

“Please, after you,” I gesture.

“Come on, Fraser, don’t get all Canadian on me.”

“Ray, I insist.”

“So do I, now will you get out the damn door?”

“Ah, very well. Thank you kindly.”

“You’re welcome.” Then, as we’re climbing into the GTO, he adds softly, “It only takes an extra second to be courteous.”

I think he thinks I didn’t hear him, but he also knows my hearing. I smile warmly at him as he turns the key in the ignition. At least, I try my best. After a few seconds I taste blood again and have to let my face fall.

Ray’s still looking at me. He flicks his wrist. The engine dies. “You okay, Fraser.” It doesn’t really sound like a question, but I nod anyway.

When we first met, I had a hard time reading his tone, so different from the man he is impersonating. More frenetic, less warm; by turns clipped and certain or stalling and hesitant; full of contradictions. Tonight I feel the newness of our partnership all over again.

“I mean it,” he elaborates suddenly. Another characteristic: he’s an interrupter, even if he’s only interrupting himself. “I didn’t know what I’d find when I picked you up last night.” His voice seems to waver. “Thought maybe it’d be a dead Mountie.”

I’ve begun staring out the window slightly to the left of his face. It’s easier this way.

“Glad I didn’t,” he adds in a mumble and reaches for the key again.

“Ray.” The single syllable has come out too loud. I try again. "Ray, I’m grateful you came for me.” My eyes slide, ever so slowly, from the window to his streetlight halo, and then from his hair down to his eyes, which brighten a little when they find mine. “Thank you,” I say, as earnestly as I can, “for taking care of me.”

His lips curve upward as the lopsided grin returns. It is hard to tell in the half-lit car, but I think he is blushing. Not for the first time I note that he seems to radiate heat.

“Any time, Fraser,” he replies, turning the ignition and shifting the car into gear.

He rotates in his seat, extends an arm, and for a nanosecond I think he is reaching for me, but then he clutches my headrest and backs the GTO away from the precinct.

Ray does catch my eye again, though, before pulling his hand back.

“Any time,” he repeats softly.

Suddenly I don’t notice the pain quite as much.

* * *

It’s quiet. He must be sore if he’s not yakking my ear off. I wish he would, though.

I look past him, make sure nothing’s coming, then I run a red light.

He still doesn’t say anything.

I glance over again. He’s not passed out, but he’s tired, he’s hurting. Like he reads my mind, he moves a little and winces. I do, too. Wish I’d gotten there sooner last night. Should have known what Warfield would do. Should have stayed with him.

I open my mouth to say something, apologize maybe, but the words — even in my own head — sound dumb, so I say nothing.  

Besides, my instinct tells me we’re okay, all’s forgiven. He let me wear the hat, after all, and we both know the hat is sacred.

I reach the corner of my street before he says anything about where we’re going.

“Ray, aren’t you taking me back to the Consulate?”

“No, you’re coming to my place tonight.”

“I am?”

My head lets out a little puff of frustration, but I keep my mouth shut.

“Ray?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“How’s your head feeling?”

“Fine, Ray.”

“Well, you shouldn’t be alone for a couple days, just in case.”

“Ray, I’m fine, really.”

I twist the Goat into a primo parking spot. Perks of the holiday season, most people in my building must be out of town.

“Still,” I hear myself say. It’s all I can manage, part of something a lot bigger, which is more like _Still, Fraser, I don’t want to let you out of my sight till I know for sure you’re okay, and I hate thinking of you alone in that huge empty manor with nobody but a deaf wolf and pictures of the queen for company_. But I can’t ever seem to say things like that to him.

“Ray—”

I cut him off before he can get started. “Look, it’d make me feel better, okay, knowing you’re not alone in case something happens. You never know with head injuries. Trust me, I’ve had a few.” I kill the engine and hopefully any chance of an argument.

He nods once. “Very well, Ray. Thank you. I am getting rather fatigued.”

“Great.” I open the door, then realize how that sounded. “Well, not great,” I add as Dief heads to the lobby door.

I turn, expecting to see Fraser’s face over the car roof as usual, but he’s not there, so I rush around the front of the car and catch him, just as he starts to teeter.

“Oh, uh, thank you, Ray. I’m feeling a little...”

“Sore? Queasy? Dizzy?”

“All of the above, actually.”

He reaches for the car door, but I kick at it instead. Dief’s sitting beside the entrance to my building doing a damn fine impression of a pile of rocks.

“Too bad he can’t open it for us, huh?”

I feel Fraser nod, and I feel guilty all over because I miss the sound of his voice. We shuffle to the door, a three-legged cop, and he leans on the frame as I dig for my keys. He looks greenish, and I’m pretty sure it’s not the fluorescent lighting.

I’ve barely touched the handle when Dief charges the door, knocking it back and racing up the stairs. I wonder what he’s in such a rush for, but then I get distracted by how I’m going to get Fraser up three flights when he’s barely standing. He looks up like he has the same doubts.

“Maybe we should have gone back to the Consulate. Less stairs,” I say.

“No, no,” he protests, and, what do you know, he does look a little steadier. I sling my arm over his shoulder again, just in case, and we take a few steps.

“You know, Ray,” he begins, and I start grinning. Can’t help it. Long stories always start this way, so maybe he is feeling a bit better, now that he knows he can lean on me.


End file.
